Page 14 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
The two detectives glanced down at my shirt, piecing things together before Reed and Nash stepped in front of me in tandem. I peeked around the brothers but let them cover most of me.
Dad pulled out his phone and dialed. “Eric. My home office. Now.”
Classic Dad.
Always standing up for me.
I wanted to grab his hands, drag him to the Harry Potter World theme park, and drink ginger beer with him. Or dance in the rain with no music as I replaced my memories of Able with his ridiculous eighties moves.
Dad turned to Hank and Betty, tossed the cigar on the floor, smashed it with his heel, and ignored Mother’s irritated gasp. “Eric Cartwright is on his way. As far as I am concerned, your son did nothing wrong, and Eric will agree with me. No charges will be pressed.” He said it with such certainty, I believed him. That, and he was Gideon Winthrop, and that meant everything in Eastridge.
The detectives didn’t even argue as he asked them to un-cuff Reed and wait in his office. Satisfaction unfurled in my belly. I had no plans on telling Dad what had
happened because I had no plans on giving it more attention than Able deserved, but revenge felt good at my fingertips. They burned with the urge to raze, dismantle, devastate.
I wondered if this was how Nash felt as he blazed his own path, doing as he pleased with no concern over consequences. When he’d played football for Eastridge Prep, he’d start fights with the players, the mascots, the refs without considering the consequences. Or perhaps he had considered them and simply didn’t care.
He’d ditch school, to be found behind the gym with his hands up a senior’s shirt. And I’d never forget those nights in the kitchen, a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth, watching blood drip from his fists onto the floor as he tried and failed to ebb the flow with ice and towels.
“Honey…” Mother placed a palm on Dad’s shoulder, hard enough that his shirt bunched at her touch. “Gideon, don’t be silly. Think about this.” She ran her palms across his shoulders and down the length of his arms. All six carats of her engagement ring winked at me, sandwiched between two diamond-encrusted wedding bands. “The Cartwrights are great people. What about Winthrop Textiles? Eric Cartwright knows all our company secrets.”
Rage expanded in my chest, lacing itself with the oxygen I inhaled, momentarily blinding me. I struggled to focus my vision. I stared into the backs of the Prescott brothers and counted down from ten, allowing myself a moment to hide behind them as I processed in silence.
Calm down, Em. Don’t say a thing. Let her think she’s winning. Dad has this handled.
People assume strength is loud. In reality, strength is silent. It is resilience, the will to never surrender your dignity. And sometimes, the only person who knows strength exists inside you is you.
Nash’s muscles tensed. He seemed coiled, ready to burst. I didn’t know what to do, but I felt like I owed him. Touching him felt weird. Forbidden. Like I had broken a boundary no one had warned me existed. Still, I placed a palm on his back, hoping it brought him some comfort, like he and Reed had gifted me today.
If anything, he became tenser until I drew invisible lines on his back with my finger and began playing Tic-Tac-Toe with myself. Nash twisted his head and arched a brow at me, but his muscles had loosened. A lopsided grin tilted my lips up. I slashed a finger across the imaginary grid, pretending it was Reed’s back I was touching.
“Winthrop Textiles?” Dad raised his voice and pivoted to face Mother. His heel crushed the cigar against the marble, scattering dusky ashes like a shattered urn. “Able Cartwright hurt our daughter, and you’re worried about Winthrop Textiles?”
“Yes, I am. You should be, too.” I could picture her waving her arms around, gesturing to the cold marble of the living room. “How do you think we afford all this?”
I peeked around Reed and Nash a bit, in time to see Dad spear Mother with a glower that suggested he might hate her. I wasn’t my mom’s biggest fan, but Dad seemed pained, betrayed, some mixture of feelings that hurt me to witness.
“What if we did nothing?” I rested my forehead against one of the brothers. “What if…”
I considered Reed in juvie, all golden-haired and bronze-skinned beauty. He wouldn’t last. He’d come out jaded and acting like… well, like Nash.
“What if we could find a way to make this all disappear?” I finished, louder this time, peeping out from behind my wall of brothers to do so.
Betty Prescott shot me a grateful glance, hope in her eyes along with guilt. I understood it—the need to protect her sons at all costs. Her hope was mine, too.
“Wonderful idea, sweetie.” Mother stepped forward, the pep back in her step, and clapped twice. “Let me talk to Eric. We’ll get this settled. No one presses charges on either side. It’ll be like nothing ever happened.”
Except something had happened.
To me.
Did she even care?
Laughing and making dumb t-shirts with Reed pushed tonight away, but standing in front of an audience, vulnerable… what had almost happened hit me hard. I dipped behind the Prescotts and fell forward into Reed.
A broad hand reached back to steady me, and I realized I’d actually fallen onto Nash’s back.
He looked over his shoulder and whispered, “Easy, Tiger.”
